


The PFFC

by GreatGawain



Series: The Adventures of Pink Floyd [13]
Category: Pink Floyd
Genre: Crack Fic, Gen, Not Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26605039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatGawain/pseuds/GreatGawain
Summary: Crack fic. The boys play football, but like, in an interesting way
Series: The Adventures of Pink Floyd [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1772323
Comments: 12
Kudos: 13





	The PFFC

The PFFC: Pink Floyd Football Club – or Fight Club, whichever one you want to call it, either works just as well – was just starting its first season. David, Nick, Roger, and Richard were looking forward to the first game of the year, which also was to be the first game ever; however, they all seemed to have different interpretations on what “football” meant, for some reason. You’d think four college educated, grown-ass men would be able to figure it out, but you know how the British are.

David showed up wearing full American football protective gear, helmet and all, and waddled with great difficulty to the middle of the field. Roger was decked out in the flashiest rugby uniform he could find that came in various shades of black. Nick was bouncing a volleyball-looking object on his head and had spent weeks trying to find the most authentic green and yellow uniform for the occasion, shelling out assloads of money in the process. Richard was the only one who was wearing a normal football uniform, aside from his gigantic sweater (you knew that was coming).  
“You… guys know we’re all English, right? Like, what else was ‘football’ supposed to mean?” he asked as they stared at each other, slowly realizing there was some serious miscommunication. David tried to shrug but you couldn’t even tell under the enormous shoulder pads.  
“Shut up, RICHARD,” Roger snapped, feeling very exposed in his tiny shorts. He then turned to Nick. “What the hell are you even supposed to be?”  
“You ever heard of Gaelic football? I thought we were going to…”  
“That’s _such_ a fucking reach.”

They spent the next three hours trying to pull David out of his stupid uniform so they could actually play some Goddamn SPORTS.

Roger immediately named himself team captain and keeper, his glass eye spinning around in his head with anticipation. “I’ll play defense,” David offered, unwrapping a cheeseburger and devouring it with inhuman speed. “I’ll be midfield!” Nick declared, but nobody cared. They all turned to Richard, whose eyes were just barely visible over the top of his turtleneck. “C-can I be a forward?”  
“FINE, but you better not FUCK THIS UP,” Roger shouted at him and Richard walked away, hunched over in defeat, as they assumed their positions to begin the game. Their roadies also did the same on the opposite side of the field. David dragged out an armchair near the back of their side and sat down while he began to unpack his lunchbox.

As soon as the whistle blew, Richard brought his leg back to kick the ball as hard as he could, but his eyelashes got in the way and he missed completely and tripped flat on his ass (which was also pretty flat). Roger laughed so hard he fell over and proceeded to get tangled up in the goal net, swearing violently as he struggled to free himself. Nick ran forward and used his drumsticks like chopsticks to pick the ball up, then ran all the way across the field and dropped it into the net behind Peter.  
“Hey, you can’t do that!” he protested.  
Nick shrugged. “I didn’t touch it with my HANDS, did I?” David stood up on the chair and clapped as if his life depended on it, crumbs plastered all over his face. He pulled out a deep fryer from his back pocket, then squeezed his hair grease into the pot and started making French fries.

They set up again, and this time Richard managed to make contact with the ball, but even though he kicked even harder than before it only managed to roll a few inches forward. Kind of like a kitten pouncing on a ball of yarn. Nick ran forward to save the day and passed the ball to David, who was reclined seductively on his side and enjoying a three-course banquet and didn’t even bat an eye as he stuck his leg out and kicked it all the way across the entire field. It was sent hurtling towards the goal like a meteor but instead landed straight into Peter’s arms, who was blown backwards several thousand miles from the sheer force of the ball slamming into his chest. Roger lost his shit and started screaming. “WHAT THE FUCK, if we lose this game I’m going to kick you ALL out of the band!” He wore down a patch of bare dirt in front of the goal from stomping around so forcefully. Richard immediately started bawling into his sweater and David scratched his slick head. “But Roger, we’re still winning.” Roger froze and did his best to smile, trying to imitate what he had seen other _normal_ people do. “Oh yeah. Carry on.”

Chris threw a replacement ball to Alan, who dodged and dribbled his way across the pitch and found himself at a standstill before Nick, who was aggressively revving a car that he had driven out onto the field. When the ball started to zoom past him he stuck his hand out and stabbed it forcefully with his drumstick, puncturing it and letting all the air out with a fart noise. “Oops.”  
“Figures,” David muttered between fistfuls of dessert. Drummers.

Once again, they resumed their positions, and by some miracle David had decided he was finally finished with his meal. After Nick sent the ball his way, he used the recliner’s footrest to launch it to Richard, who batted it away with his eyelashes – but it went the wrong direction and found itself landing in Roger’s gloves. His horsey face grew furious and his glass eye almost fell out of its socket.  
“YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER!!!!” he roared, then hurled the ball back at him with tremendous force. It smashed him directly between the eyes and he fell to the ground in a daze, seeing cornflakes and stars.  
Roger ripped his gloves off and threw them down. “That’s it, I’M gonna be striker now. YOU be the keeper,” he growled, and Richard crawled over to the net, eyelashes scraggly. Nick drove donuts in the middle of the field.

The whistle blew, and as soon as it left the referee’s lips Roger turned around and catapulted the ball into the air with his horse hooves and sent it flying down the field, once more demolishing Richard’s face. Roger exploded into laughter so hard he almost pissed himself, and this time his glass eye DID fall out as tears streamed down his face. The poor cat man collapsed again as Roger reclaimed his eye and the ball, and he let out a bloodcurdling Careful with That Axe Eugene scream, the soundwaves propelling it into the distant goal for another point. “FUCK YEAH, YOU STUPID ROADIES,” he yelled, and Nick’s mustache started growing longer and longer until it was long enough to lift Roger up into a celebratory hug from like, halfway across the field. David picked up his entire armchair and waved it above his head while cheering loudly in celebration. Richard remained unconscious on the ground.

Finally, it was the last few minutes of the match. Peter was slowly making his way down the street in a daze, wobbling slightly as he finally returned to the field and took his place in front of the goal line. There was a giant scorch mark, still smoking, in the middle of his shirt where the impact had nearly singed it off his body completely.  
The shrill whistle blew for the last time and all hell broke loose. Nick floored the acceleration and drove his car straight into Chris, sending both the roadie and the ball a jillion feet into the air. It touched down next to Alan and he Naruto ran down the field with it, dribbling with his feet at lightning speed. David pranced after him, flicking his hair from side to side gracefully and giggling like a schoolgirl. Roger also tore down the pitch, a trail of fire blazing up in his wake, when he suddenly stopped and made a super loud air horn sound with his nose. “RICK! WAKE THE FUCK UP!”

Richard was _just_ sitting up from where he’d been lying on the ground for the past several hours when he turned his head to see a black and white sphere breaking the sound barrier, coming directly for him. It RICK-ocheted off his face and knocked him flat on his back once again.  
David was in possession now as Roger then realized there was nothing between him and the open goal. He started flailing his arms wildly and jumping up and down, screeching for David’s attention: “Pass it here! Give it to me! I’m open! Over here! Let me have it! Kick it! I’m ready! I can score! Pass it! I got it! We’re gonna win! Come on! Let’s go! David! STOP EATING and kick the FUCKING BALL!!!”  
So David kicked the fucking ball, intimately tonguing the ice cream cones he held in both hands, and it soared through the air in a beautiful arc, catching the glint of the evening sunset on its synthetic surface before it came down and landed right down Roger’s throat mid-shout. Roger blinked his eyes once, then again, while staring blankly into space.

“Uhhh… so did we win?” Nick asked as he hopped out of the car and narrowly missed being struck by Chris’ body crashing to the ground. He sat up with a crooked grin, muttering “I’ve been mad for fucking years, absolutely years, been over the edge for yonks…” over and over and over and over and over and over and over again until his head exploded with dark forebodings too.  
David stuck both ice creams into his mouth simultaneously and chewed thoughtfully. “Hmmm… I guess? Technically it’s a draw ‘cause we didn’t REALLY finish the game, right?” Somewhere in the distance, he could’ve sworn he heard Richard’s almost silent voice whispering, “God, no, please let it be over…” Roger continued to stand where he was, eyes the size of dinner plates.  
David licked his lips. “Mmmm, dinner…”  
NO David, quit eating for once.  
He pouted and crossed his arms. “Come on, that joke’s from like, 2011 anyway.”  
IT’S STILL FUNNY THOUGH.  
“Fine, but I want a different narrator in the next story.”  
Yeah we’ll see about that, won’t we.

“Oh well. Let’s do this again next week! That was fun!” Nick extended his mustache again to the edge of the field and picked up a quietly-sobbing Richard with his face hairs, dropping him into the back seat of the car. David picked up his armchair with one arm and the dazed and confused roadies with the other. He put everything and everyone in the car as well and joined Nick in the front seat before they sped off into the sunset, leaving Roger still frozen in place as night fell across the land.

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually one of my first stories this year after years of hiatus. Crack fics used to come so effortlessly to me before but I guess being out of practice so long had me doubting whether or not this was good enough to post. I hadn't really touched it since May of this year but I revisited it and tweaked it a little to (hopefully) be another good one~  
> Old memes die hard huh lmao I couldn't resist throwing some old PF tropes in there for funsies  
> Poor Richard is going to be the next Scott Sterling :'[


End file.
